The Strength to Serve (Echoes of Imara Book 3)

by Claire Frank

  “I will make ready to depart as soon as possible,” Gwinele said.

  Horadrus took a few steps toward her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You are my voice, my most loyal subject. I need you to stay here while I am away. Protect my lambs, Gwinele. See that they are kept safe.” His eyes flicked to Isley. “My heir will grow while I am away. You will tell me how he fares.”

  Isley realized her mouth was hanging open, and she clicked it closed. Horadrus was going to Halthas? He never left his palace, as far as Isley knew. A knot of fear churned in her stomach. With Horadrus, she felt protected. As the mother of his heir, she was given a special place, and as soon as Gwinele stopped her meddling Isley would be so much more. He couldn’t leave now. What would become of her without him?

  It ends. It all ends. We are imprisoned.

  Blinking, Isley took slow steps backward, not comprehending the words being said. Without asking for permission, she turned and slipped away, nearly running in her haste to return to her rooms. She felt naked, as vulnerable as she had been on the ship that brought her here. How could he leave her? Suddenly, the murmurings of the servants and their expressions of awe in her presence seemed to count for nothing. They had no power. They could do nothing to protect her if the tide turned against her favor.

  As she burst into the room, she darted to her son’s cradle and lifted his sleeping form into her arms. He stirred, his tiny tongue protruding from his lips, but his eyes remained closed.

  “You will protect me, won’t you, sweet babe?” she whispered. “You will keep me safe.”

  62. THE ATTIC

  The house the prisoner had described proved more difficult to find than Callum had anticipated. There was no shortage of small bakeries or brick houses with black doors, but as he stood across the street, peering at just such a building, he was fairly certain he’d found the right one. After he’d set a few of his young message runners to watching it for a few days, they’d reported seeing an odd assortment of men coming and going, rarely the same man twice. One had said she saw an old woman come to the door. It matched the prisoner’s description well.

  As Callum watched, an old woman emerged, dressed in the bright, flowing silks favored by the Sahaarans. Her hair was covered by a turquoise wrap and she stooped, leaning against a cane as she walked with a basket dangling from the crook of her other arm. Callum considered approaching her, but decided against it for the time being. What he really wanted was a chance to get into the house, and if he delayed her she might change her mind and stay home. Better he let her leave, and speak with her later if he couldn’t find any clues inside.

  When she’d disappeared around a corner, Callum darted for her door and found it unlocked. She was either lacking in wits and had forgotten to lock her door, or she’d left it open so the Attalonians could come and go. Either way, he pushed it open and slipped inside.

  The house was quiet, with bare wood floors, a cooking stove, and a small table cluttered with ceramic cookware. A curtained doorway led to a bedroom, and several large chests clustered near the back door. A ladder built into the wall led to a trapdoor in the ceiling, Callum thought it likely went to a storage area in the attic. The building wasn’t tall enough for a second story.

  Callum quickly rifled through the chests. Two held stacks of woven blankets, a soft-sided basket, and skeins of yarn. The largest was empty, save for a small pouch. It clinked as Callum lifted it, and he poured the contents into his hands. Attalonian coin.

  Not wanting to alert anyone to his snooping, he replaced the pouch and closed the chest. He ducked into the bedroom, but only found a few of the old woman’s belongings, so he decided to try the attic.

  The ladder creaked as he climbed, but it felt secure. He pulled on the trapdoor and let it dangle open, then hoisted himself inside. The low, pitched roof forced him to stoop as he stood, and he peered around, wide-eyed.

  The floor was made of wide slats of wood, and the thick beams in the ceiling came to a point in the center. Wood crates were stacked everywhere, with narrow corridors between them, and a bed was tucked against a far wall. And, lining nearly every open space along both the walls and the crates, there were paintings.

  Callum’s breath caught in his throat as he looked around. The pieces of art were of mismatched sizes and styles, some with ornate frames and others simple stretched canvases. One was faded, as if very old, while the one next to it was peppered with bright, vibrant colors. It looked exactly like Wraith’s room, back in the Quarry.

  “You found it.”

  Startling at the voice behind him, Callum hit his head on a ceiling beam. He rubbed the spot as he turned around to find Wraith standing above the trapdoor.

  “Wraith?” Callum asked, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  “I knew you’d find it eventually,” Wraith said.

  “What … I….” Callum trailed off. It wasn’t often he was at a loss for words, but this had him dumbfounded. “Is this yours?”

  Wraith nodded.

  “If you needed more room to put your paintings, you could have just asked,” Callum said. “Have you been living here?”

  “Some of the time.”

  “Why?”

  Wraith’s odd multicolored eyes stared at Callum for a long moment. “Because of this.” He held up his arm and drew back his sleeve, revealing a gold band near his elbow.

  “What is that?” Callum asked. “Wait, it looks like the one on the assassin we caught.”

  Wraith nodded, his form shimmering.

  “Wraith,” Callum said. “I really need you to explain this to me.”

  “They found me,” Wraith said, his voice sounding uncharacteristically clear. “They had nets and ropes and they hit me with a dart in the neck. I went to sleep, and when I woke up, there were black clamps on my arms. I tried to disappear. I wanted to fade so they couldn’t see me, but nothing happened. No Wielding.”

  Callum swallowed hard and nodded. “Go on.”

  “I couldn’t remember anything from before. Nothing except Nihil. I could have been born in his compound. But I wasn’t. I had a life before he took me.” Wraith’s voice broke and he looked away, taking deep breaths. “I had a wife and two children. I remembered nothing, until they put the clamps on my arms. Without them, I could not remember my own name. Everything was cloudy, like mist in my mind. With them, everything was clear.”

  Licking his lips, Callum stepped backward. There was something in Wraith’s voice that raised the hair on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t just the fact that he’d never heard the man string so many words together at once. Something was different.

  “They told me they could use me. I didn’t want to forget again. I didn’t want to lose her, even if she was only in my head. So they gave me this.” Wraith held up his arm again. “It lets me Wield, but keeps me clear. I can think. I can remember.”

  “What else does it do?”

  Wraith looked at the ground. “I do what they say. Even if I would rather not.”

  “So, you’re telling me that someone captured you and bound you with something that kept you from Wielding. But it allowed you to remember your past. And now you have that gold band, and you’re doing things for the people that captured you.” Callum paused, afraid to ask his next question, but already certain he knew the answer. “What are they making you do?”

  “I deliver the packages.”

  Callum’s chest constricted and his mouth went dry. “Oh gods, Wraith. You’re one of the assassins?”

  Putting his hand to his forehead, Callum cursed himself for a fool. No wonder there was no evidence. Wraith could undo any sign of his entry, completely erase his tracks. Even Merrick wouldn’t be able to find a trace.

  “Wait, how did you find me that night? When we caught the other assassin?” Callum asked.

  “I sprung your trap.”

  Callum narrowed his eyes and inched backward. “You were the one? But
you didn’t have any scorch marks on your clothes. The flare dust—” He paused, his mouth open. “You fixed your clothes, didn’t you? You got rid of the burns.”

  Wraith nodded.

  “This is … I don’t even know what this is.” Callum put a hand on his stomach as his gut turned sour. “How have you been doing it? Poison?”

  “They call it ‘Frail Heart.’ White powder. I sprinkle it on their skin or in their food. Food is risky because someone else could eat it, but they don’t care. I care. I like it clean. No one else dies. It works slow. They fall asleep and don’t wake up.”

  “It’s someone from Attalon orchestrating this, isn’t it?”

  Wraith nodded again. “They said if I did well, I could keep the band. Keep my mind clear. I’m mad, but I’m not stupid. They make me do things through it. They make sure I do what I’m told. But I knew I’d find a way out.”

  Callum glanced around. “Why are you telling me everything? Does this mean I’m next?” His heart constricted as he realized Wraith had probably already done it—the poison just hadn’t finished the job yet.

  “Don’t worry, Callum,” Wraith said, and a chill ran up Callum’s spine. “They gave me my memory, but you gave me my freedom. The man you killed in the alley wore the other piece.” He held up his arm again, pointing to his gold band. “Now that he’s dead, I’m free. No one tells me what to do anymore.”

  “Who’s next, Wraith?” Callum asked, his heart thundering in his chest. “Who else are they going after?”

  Wraith shook his head. “I already delivered the last package. It’s done.”

  Callum could scarcely make his mouth form the words. “Who was it?”

  “I’m sorry,” Wraith said. “I had to. My wife and children still live here in the city. They would have killed them if I didn’t. I was the only one who could manage it; no one else would be able to get in. He’s already dead, but he doesn’t know it yet. You can’t stop it.”

  “What happens now?”

  “You were always good to me,” Wraith said as he backed away, starting down the ladder. “Keep my paintings if you want them. For your sake, I hope we don’t meet again.”

  He disappeared down the trapdoor and Callum dashed over to follow. “Wait!” Hurrying down the ladder, he jumped to the floor and looked around, but the room was empty. Nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste, he rushed out the front door and swung his head back and forth, trying to find any sign of where Wraith might have gone. Of course, he was gone without a trace.

  With a heavy sigh, Callum shook his head and walked up the street, eager to get away from the Sahaaran woman’s house. He wondered if she realized Wraith had been living in her attic. It was possible she’d never seen him.

  Tucking his hands in his pockets, he veered north. He had a horrified feeling he knew who Wraith’s last victim had been, and he needed to try to deliver a warning, in case it wasn’t too late.

  63. NEWS

  Daro’s feet ached and his stomach felt hollow as they trekked into Solinde. He, Pathius, and Shale had met Cecily, Dashal, and the Imarans farther down the chasm and found a safe place to cross to the north side of the river. Griff and Serv had caught up with them early the next day, sailing the hijacked ship, and they’d all set out for the trip up the coast. Dashal had provided wind for the sails and they had made incredible time, crossing the distance in a fraction of what it would have taken to go overland.

  Although they’d pilfered supplies from the ship, it was a long walk from the Watchtower on the coast, where they had disembarked, and their provisions had run low. Solinde was a welcome sight but, as much as he wanted a hot meal and a bed, Daro knew they needed to find General Coryn first.

  “Pathius, Cecily, and I will go check in with the general,” he said, as they entered the small trading town. “The rest of you can go find food and rest.”

  Griff patted him on the shoulder. “Get some rest yourself soon. I’ll see if I can find us enough rooms.”

  Daro led Pathius and Cecily across to the small encampment of tents situated in a field on the east side of town. He flagged down a soldier who was passing between two of the tents.

  “Where’s the general?” Daro asked.

  The young man narrowed his eyes as if confused before answering. “There,” he said, and pointed to a large tent.

  Daro thanked him, and they walked to the tent, ducking through the flaps as they entered.

  Inside, Daro was surprised to find Commander Torbin sitting at a wide desk, reading from a piece of creased paper. He’d been second in command to General Coryn at the stronghold.

  Torbin dropped the paper and his eyes widened as he looked at them. “You made it back. We thought for sure you were all dead.”

  “We had some trouble, but the bridge is broken,” Daro said. “Where’s General Coryn?”

  Torbin’s face fell. “She died in battle.”

  Daro stepped backward, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. “What? How?”

  “Part of the Attalonian force followed, harrying us on our retreat. General Coryn, may the gods smile on her, took a portion of our force to make a stand against them, allowing the rest of us to pull back here. They took heavy losses, but did convince the Attalonians to turn back south. The general led the charge, and she fell in the fighting. Until we get word from the king with a new appointment, I’m in charge.”

  Rubbing his hands down his face, Daro tried to make sense of the news. “We let too many of them through. If their force had been smaller, they might not have chased you. Damn them all.”

  Cecily put a hand on his arm. “We did what we could. They’re cut off now, separated from their supplies. That has to count for something.”

  Pathius stood aside, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. Daro could almost feel his anger. “What about Rogan’s reinforcements?” Pathius asked. “They clearly aren’t here.”

  “I don’t know for certain, but the last messenger brought the news that they were gathered outside the city and ready to march,” Torbin said. “That was days ago. It might be another week, but if they left when I expect they did, we should see them soon.”

  “Make sure the watch is impregnable,” Daro said. “I’d suggest increasing the patrols if you still have the manpower to do so. There have been small groups of Attalonians in our territory for months now, and we don’t know how many are still out there. And the main force could decide to push north sooner rather than later. They’ll want access to the river to reconnect their supply lines.”

  “Absolutely,” Torbin said. “We’ll do the best we can.”

  Daro nodded and stepped out of the tent, with Pathius and Cecily behind him. His body was exhausted. None of them had gotten much rest on the ship, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent meal. As they made their way back to the center of town, he hoped Griff had found them a place to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to fill his belly and shut out the world for at least one night of good rest.

  ***

  Cecily clutched the warm mug in her hands as steam rose from her tea. She sat with Daro and Pathius in the common room of their inn, her breakfast mostly untouched on the table in front of her. Pathius had finished his meal and sat staring out the thick windows, running a finger along the rim of his mug.

  They’d been in Solinde for nearly a week, awaiting the arrival of Rogan’s force. The remnants of the stronghold’s defenders were tired and battered, in spirit as much as in body. Although the days of rest had done them all good, the mood was turning restless as anticipation grew. Scouts sent south reported that Attalon had taken full control of the stronghold and appeared to be attempting to build a temporary replacement for the bridge, but there was no further sign that they were coming north to attack. Concern still remained that Attalon would launch an assault, and everyone knew there would be little they could do to defend against it.

  Daro raised his eyebrows and gestured to her food. “Finished?”

 
She nodded and he pulled her plate across the table, digging in to what was left of her meal.

  “What?” he asked, his mouth full of food.

  “Nothing,” she said with a smile.

  Her mind drifted to the problem of the Arcstone. Griff kept it with him still, and she’d been able to sense its disturbances as they’d traveled north on the ship. It had been nerve wracking, seeing the look on Daro’s face whenever a strange sensation would wash over her. She knew he was aware of it too, and she wondered if he suspected the cause. More than once she’d resolved to tell him, only to change her mind before she could find the words. She hadn’t wanted to tell him while they were enclosed with it on the ship, and since arriving in Solinde she hadn’t found the courage to confess that they had it with them. Once the conflict with Attalon was settled, she would have Griff help them transport it to Imara and, when it was safely away, she could explain everything to Daro without burdening him with worry over it now.

  The door burst opened and Cecily’s eyes widened as she saw Callum. Dressed in black, but lacking his usual swagger, he walked to their table as soon as he spotted them, his face somber.

  “What are you doing here?” Cecily asked, her stomach twisting. Something about his demeanor raised an alarm inside her.

  He sank down onto the bench next to Daro and brushed the hair from his eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Try,” Daro said, through a mouthful of food.

  Callum glanced at Pathius, pursing his lips as if considering whether he should talk in front of him. Pathius raised an eyebrow and Callum shrugged. Leaning forward with his arm resting on the table, he lowered his voice, speaking scarcely above a whisper. “Rogan is dead.”

  Cecily felt as if the air had been crushed from her lungs. Her mouth dropped open, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t have heard him right. “What?” she managed to say, the word little more than a croak.

  Callum’s face tightened and the corners of his mouth turned down. “I know.”